Come Whatever May
by Slytherstein
Summary: A young steward's son becomes a war hero, ruthless in battle and proud at heart. An innocent child becomes a Gondorian Captain, quick-witted and honest. Childhood friendships blossom into unlooked for love. Come whatever may. FarxEow, BorxOC


**Come Whatever May**

**Author:** Slytherstein

**Rating:** T

**Spoilers:** All

**Genre:** Angst/Adventure

**Main Character(s):** Boromir and Faramir

**Secondary Character(s**): Eowyn, Eomer, Theodred, Denethor, Evelyn (OC) and Esther (OC)

**Ship(s):** FaramirxEowyn, BoromirxEvelyn, EomerxEsther, TheodredxEsther, TheodredxEvelyn

**Summary: **A young steward's son becomes a war hero, ruthless in battle and proud at heart. An innocent child becomes a Gondorian Captain, quick-witted and honest. Childhood friendships become unlooked for love. Come whatever may.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters, except for Evelyn and Esther; they belong to the brilliant J. R. R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy.

**A/N:** I thought I would try my hand at a Lord of the Rings fanfic. And what better to write about than my favorite LOTR character: Boromir. I included two OCs: Evelyn and Esther. There is also a bit of variation in age. Anyway, please read and review. Enjoy!

* * *

Come Whatever May

Chapter I

"Not Always Easy"

…

The young Steward's son inhaled the fresh air, and slowly exhaled with a satisfied expression upon his face. He stood on the balcony beside his bedchamber, his chainmail coat underneath his black garments, which bore the white tree on the chest in silver stitching. He had just returned from his sword and archery training with his instructor, and in a few moments he would attend to his studies with his father, Denethor. Denethor, the Steward of Gondor.

He looked out at the White City in all her splendor, but his gaze could not avoid the ruined city of Osgiliath. Osgiliath held the last offense—and a petty offense, at best—against the forces of Mordor. Looking back over Minas Tirith, he sighed at the very sight of the crumbling city. The White City had been the beloved home of him and his little brother for as long as either could remember.

'One day,' he thought, 'I will restore this city back to her former glory.'

He lifted his gaze toward the accursed land across the river, the dark land that never held a glimmer of light. He glared at Mordor. Such hatred burned in his eyes that it almost perfectly reflected the fire spurting from the depths of Mount Doom. The flame was quickly extinguished as he dropped his gaze back to his ruinous city. The dark land seemed to have cast an unremitting shadow upon all of Gondor.

'One day...'

"Boromir!" he heard a familiar voice call from behind. He could not help but jump at the sound, which tore his mind from its wonderings.

He turned to face his younger brother with a warm smile.

"Hello, Faramir," he replied as he gently embraced his kin, relieved it had not been his father. Looking the boy up and down and realizing he was covered in dirt from head to toe, he asked, "So, tell me. Where have you been?"

Faramir grinned, revealing pearly white teeth. "I have saved the fair princess, after yet again defeating the horrid dragon of death that threatened the great realm of Gondor! I have returned peace and prosperity to this land once more, allowing the young maidens to glide through the fields at ease. They must no longer fear the fiery breath of that ferocious beast!" he exclaimed, raising his muddy sword in the air with a look of pride.

Boromir smiled weakly, as flashes of _his _own childhood soared to the front of his mind. He wished he could have been as carefree as his younger brother was now. Three years prior, when _he_ was Faramir's age, he had been made to tend to his studies and learn to be a proper soldier. He had never once had the opportunity to enjoy his youth.

This was nothing new, though. He had always known he was maturing rather quickly. Faster than any of his friends. He never bore the innocence he now saw shining out from his brother's smile.

Faramir realized his brother was _thinking_ again and playfully poked his arm. "Want to play a game?" he asked, his smile broadening.

"I'm sorry, Faramir. I wish I could, but I have to get to father now. Maybe some other time," he offered his brother a forced smile of reassurance.

Faramir's smile dropped to a frown. "You _always _say that! You _never_ have time for me! You _always _have something you need to do! I never see you anymore, Boromir!"

Boromir looked over his shoulder to make sure there were no guards around. He weighed the consequences if he skipped his lessons. Not only would he land _himself_ in a world of trouble…but the thought of how much trouble _Faramir _would get in because of him was annoyingly unbearable.

Turning back to face his brother, he beheld a disappointed look in those usually bright eyes. "Just this once?" Faramir pleaded, his determined gaze never wandering from his older brother's guilt-ridden face. "Can't you forget about your studies for just _one _day?"

Boromir thought hard for a long moment, before finally releasing a submissive sigh. He nodded his head slowly. "Alright, Faramir," he told him, and his brother's entire face lit up. "But just this once," Boromir cautioned, himself unable to hide the slight smile that formed.

* * *

The eldest son of the Steward followed his younger brother through a secret passage and out into the lower section of Minas Tirith. When they came across two Citadel Guards, they both hid their faces. Faramir led his brother to a large hole in the wall of an old, abandoned alleyway. This particular location had been discovered by Faramir and his friends a few months previously. The younger brother slipped through easily, and Boromir followed his example. When the latter stepped out, he found himself standing in a clearing, where three children sat. They seemed to be patiently waiting for something.

When these three caught sight of the two Gondorians, they quickly rose to their feet.

Faramir smiled up at his older brother, leading him over to the small group. "Do you remember dad saying that the Royal Family from Rohan was coming?" he asked. Boromir nodded, and Faramir proceeded to stop in front of the oldest of the three. "This is Eomer, the king's nephew. He is a year older than me." Eomer smiled kindly, as Faramir continued to the younger boy. "This is Theodred, the Prince of Rohan, son of King Théoden. He's twelve, like me!"

"Hi," Theodred said with a pleasant wave, and Boromir returned this with a slight bow of his head in greeting.

"And _this_," Faramir said, standing beside the girl, "is the Lady Eowyn, the king's niece. She is Eomer's younger sister. She's a year younger than I am." Boromir thought he saw her face turn a shade of pink for a split-second, and he half-smiled.

That is, until Faramir walked back over to him. The boy's eyes were fixed on the three visitors. "This is my older brother, Boromir, the finest soldier in all of Gondor! He's our father's favorite, and he's three years older than me, making him fifteen."

Boromir did not nod or smile this time, but frowned. The fact that Faramir had introduced him as _our father's favorite_ did not please him in the least. In fact, it disgusted him more than he would ever be willing to admit. He despised how his father had chosen a favorite. The worst part was that the all-knowing Steward had completely neglected his other child.

Denethor's oldest son was staring at the ground, and he noticed neither the greeting Eowyn and Eomer offered him, nor the welcoming wave from Prince Theodred.

"Okay," Faramir continued, clapping his hands together in order to get everyone's attention, "Eowyn, you're the princess—of course—and Eomer, you're the evil dragon! Theodred's the prince, and I'll be the courageous knight so fair! And…Boromir…."

"Oh, it's quite alright, Faramir," Boromir assured his little brother. "I'll just watch, if that's okay." He walked over to the stone wall and found a comfortable spot to lean against casually, finding the game rather childish. He hoped the others would not take offense.

The four children got into their positions, saying nothing of the matter, and instead, they began playing. Boromir watched silently as Eowyn screamed, Eomer growled, and Faramir swung his sword wildly. Eomer fell to the ground, using his imagination to portray dying dragon. Although Boromir had no intention of taking part in such childish antics, he greatly envied their innocence. He wished that he had not been forced into this uptight state.

A few minutes passed, after which Theodred pretended to knight Faramir. Lady Eowyn then leaned forward and kissed her _brave hero_. Boromir blinked twice, shaking his head in disbelief. 'I wonder if he kisses every girl who pretends to be the princess in these games of his,' he thought.

"Yay! Great game!" the four younglings cheered together.

"Let's play another," Eomer suggested, and the rest echoed their agreement. "Only this time," he added, "with more drama and passion! I think it should be longer, too!"

Boromir smiled halfheartedly, knowing when he was no longer wanted. He had skipped most of his study time as it was, and his father would be furious enough. Resting his gaze on his younger brother, he found that Faramir was laughing with his new friends. Boromir nodded, knowing Faramir would not be _too _upset with his absence. Holding back the heavy sigh that formed in the back of his throat, he slipped away, unnoticed, through the uneven hole in the wall.

'They will probably be playing all evening,' he thought. 'What is the point of lingering if all I do is stand there? They will be better off without me interfering, as it is. They should have their childish dreams.'

He slowly made his way to the topmost level of the city. As he progressed, anger flooded into his weary mind. 'Why did I have to mature so quickly?' he thought in a fluster, kicking a pile of dust on the side of the street. 'I'm only fifteen, and yet, father makes me train more than a married soldier with a family to support! I should not be this way! I would be content with at least a _portion _of the freedom and innocence my brother carries!'

Boromir thought back to the day when his father had torn him away from his friends. He had been made to start his studies early. Apparently, he needed to train to become a great leader. He had only been eight-years-old at the time, but he had been separated from all those he held dear. Even when he _was_ with his friends, he felt left out somehow. They had all enjoyed their childhood with flippancy and laughter, but he had been forced to watch them from behind the glass of a window. That window had become an unwanted companion in the room he was locked inside from dusk to ungodly hours of the night.

Being the favorite of their father was not always easy. In fact, now that he considered the matter, it had never been easy. Not for him. Denethor expected so much of his oldest son, placing more pressure on the boy's shoulders than he would ever know. What was worse, Boromir was forced to witness his brother enjoy the childhood that had been stolen from him.

He came to the heavy doors leading to his father's throne room. He fixed his mail-shirt and straightened his robes. With his head hung low, Boromir pushed the iron doors open and entered. The Steward rose to his feet in fury and walked up to his son.

"Where have you been?" Denethor demanded angrily.

Boromir thought quickly, and then provided his father with a story, "I was in my chambers, sir, attempting to skip my lessons for the evening. Faramir caught me and convinced me to come here."

Denethor glowered at his son, asking, "What could possibly make you wish to skip your lessons?"

Boromir scowled, his eyes narrowing before he had time to comprehend what he was doing. He could not stop himself, and, unable to regain control, he shouted, "Why would I _not _want to skip?! You stole everything from me! My friends, my childhood, my whole life! You're even tearing me away from my little brother! Ever since you made me start these ridiculous lessons, I've grown apart from _everyone_! I've matured well beyond my years! Every day you keep me busy from dawn until nightfall, and twice each week you call me in this damn room and won't let me leave until I'm practically asleep! The truth is, father, that I hate it!"

Denethor's expression was free of all pity. Only fury remained. "Get out," he muttered in a deadly voice, before raising his head and bellowing, "_Get out_!"

Boromir rushed to the large door, snapping back into control and now quite at a loss.

"I don't wish to see you for the rest of the night!" his father bellowed after him. "_And mark my words, boy! If you're not here at dawn tomorrow, you'll wish you had never been born_!"

Boromir slammed the metal doors shut. He may have been his father's favorite, but the man's temper had a mind of its own. He ran nonstop until he stumbled into his bedchambers, panting for breath. He heard the door slam shut behind him, and he promptly turned to lock it, not wishing to see a single soul. He fell to a sitting position on his bed, allowing darkness to engulf him.

What he had said to his father would be forgotten in the course of a few days, as they had always been. It never changed. Boromir felt angry tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, but he quickly blinked. He held them back. As always. Nothing he said would make any difference. Nothing he said _ever_ changed _anything_. Every time he had tried to defend his brother from his father's wrath, he would only succeed in placing Faramir in even more trouble. The consequence was always more punishment for both of them.

Boromir fell onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling as a single tear penetrated his defenses and rolled down his face. He released a sob, which echoed off the stone walls of his the bedroom. This only enhanced the fit, and he soon found himself crying glumly into his pillow, gripping his blanket firmly for whatever ease it could bring. He felt simply miserable, and not even sleep would bring him comfort. It never did.


End file.
